#anyway. we live in hope that I will never have to see these workmen again

[mearcatsreturns]

The plumbers and workmen are here taking out the sink and part of my cabinets. Hopefully this will finally, FINALLY fix with my kitchen flooding issues. Cross your fingers for me!

[blinder-secrets]

Parlour Worries

tommy x wife!reader, 1521 words

prompts: ‘You’ve been crying. I can tell.’ / ‘You’re home, you’re safe.’

a/n: mentions of pregnancy, she/her pronouns, sickly sweet fluff at the end

Tommy found you in the middle, lingering between rooms, stood by a decorated cabinet that no one else would ever look twice at. Fresh flowers sit in vases atop it, so that even as you cross from one room to the next, the scent never drops. The luxury withholds. It’s the small details that keep the image alive, you suppose. That reassure his guests, your guests, that you’re one of them. Expensive and indulgent and living amongst the roses. It was more effective before you’d arrived and planted yourself in front of it, sniffling, and hiding your face each time someone passed by. 

You had meant to rejoin the party, to go back to mingling and smiling through the red of your lipstick, but then the thought of it had become all of a sudden too much. The fake pleasantries, the hidden offensives. You could tell which men liked conversation and which humoured it just to look beyond the cut of your dress, beneath the slip of fabric over your breastbone. They weren’t honest men the way workmen were, they spoke with the assumption that you were there just to entertain, to sate their appetites. Another perk of their status. You had stopped by the flowers before any of them could see you crying, too overwhelmed to force it back, but maybe you should’ve continued anyway. There’s nothing appealing to them about a teary-eyed woman. 

Tommy arrives not long after, just as you tuck the sodden handkerchief into your fist. You had applied it well, caught the tears before they could drag kohl down your face, streaking and black like you’d been in the mines. You’re still put together you hope, still a fitting match beside him. He's untouched by the evening, perfect in his suit, his bow tie and hot-pressed collar. You could put him through a blizzard and he’d still come out looking like that, you think. He could talk to these people for hours and still be himself. Still keep his composure.

He puts a hand to the small of your back. ‘I was looking for you.’

When you turn to him, you’ve set a smile onto your face but it wobbles, fractures almost. ‘Needed a break from small talk,’ you answer, hoping it’s light enough to go unquestioned. 

His reply is distracted by a passing Lord, an exchanged greeting. They lift their glasses to each other like friends. You can’t copy him, your hands stay crossed over your front.

‘They’re bringing dessert out soon,’ Tommy says, once you’re alone again. ‘Second dessert, like Mary suggested.’

You nod. The thought of anything sweet makes your stomach turn. ‘Well, we do want to make a good impression.’

‘We do.’ The whiskey he’s holding comes up to wait by his lips. ‘Which is why I can’t have my wife hiding in the hallways.’

There’s a hint of humour in his tone, fondness under the raise of his eyebrows before he drinks. You wish you could laugh it away with him, but instead you nod, and offer a noise of agreement. Or acceptance. A hum that says, I know, isn’t that funny, we all have a duty to keep to now. You rise to the top and still there are strings waiting to tug you into place.

‘Love.’ He clears his throat, abandons pretence. ‘You’ve been crying. I can tell.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ His head shakes, no. It’s just how he knows you. ‘Good,’ you say, attempting to smile, ‘I was worried someone would notice.’ The handkerchief pools out of your fist, into your fingers. It’s easier to focus on that, than on Tommy. If you look at him too long you’ll talk yourself into tears again. 

‘No-one here notices anyone but themselves,’ he muses, like he’s telling a joke. After he takes the last of his whiskey onto his tongue, he sets the glass down and puts his hands to you instead, to your arms. His palms hover by your elbows. ‘So, what’s wrong, eh? Not enjoying the party?’

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘Lovely.’ You fold the handkerchief again, watching as you match silk corner to silk corner. It’s wet enough from the crying that you may as well shove it into the wine you’d abandoned. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I should be happy. You’re home, you’re safe.’ You sigh, and meet his eyes again. ‘That’s rare enough these days.’

His chin dips in acknowledgement, past denying it, past apologising too. 

‘But those people, Tommy…’ There it is again, that lump in your throat. Like you’ve swallowed a golf ball whole. Like you’re staring down the barrel of a shotgun, waiting to plead your case, not exchanging whispers with your husband, your other self. ‘Some of them are worse than any gangster could be.’ Worse than any blinder, any Tommy Shelby.

He scoffs, letting his arms drop to sit around your hips. It’s a loose hold on you, but a hold all the same. He never lets you stray for long. ‘That’s what you’re upset about, eh?’ he asks. ‘A bunch of boys from Westminster?’ 

‘I don’t like them in the house, Tom.’ 

It’s too exposing, makes you both vulnerable in a way you weren’t before. If they’ve seen the house, they’ve seen the secrets, the things that matter. It’s like inviting rats into the floorboards, ready to tear into whatever drops to their level. The first hint of something usable and they’ll take it. They’ll pull Tommy from government and put him back into the trenches he came from, they’re waiting to do it. You feel like bait in the trap with them here.

‘I know what I’m doing, alright? I know politics, I know how it works.’

You feel like whining, or stomping your feet. He might do, but it’s not the point, it’s not going to shift the discomfort you feel. It certainly isn’t going to make you enjoy the evening any more, knowing now that Tommy thinks himself to be one of them. A cuckoo in the nest. They’re still here, too close to home, to heart. 

‘Hey,’ he hushes, pulling into you, ‘you think I’d let them into my house if I didn’t have everything planned out? Hm?’

Our house, you think. Our hallways, our walls, our children in the rooms upstairs. ‘These men don’t care for rules anymore than you do, Tommy. What happens when it goes wrong?’

He shrugs. ‘I fix it. Like I always do.’ He’s still talking lightly, still not seeing it the way you do, and why would he?

‘I don’t like the risk,’ you admit, the words stretching through your teeth. ‘We’ve come too far to lose any of it now.’

‘So we won’t,’ he says, ‘we won’t. Eh? Everything’s fine. It’s just one evening, love, and then they’re gone.’

You force a breath, a weak nod. He isn’t convinced.

‘What is it?’ His brows pull into each other, forehead crumpling. ‘You don’t worry over nothing.’

This is hardly the time to tell him, hardly the place. You hadn’t been sure, but the nausea, the tears, the hesitation in everything you do. ‘I think…’ you start, pulling away from the words when you find a simpler alternative. You take one of his wrists, moving it until his hand sits against your stomach, flat beneath your own. For a second he’s still, and then his fingers spread, and his thumb skims the fabric over your naval, and you relax more than you have all evening. He knows now, he understands. The recognition flickers in his face; there’s more at stake now, another rivet in the machine.

‘You see,’ you whisper, almost smiling. ‘I’ve been worrying for two of us.’

‘What’s there to worry about?’ He leans forward, pouring the words into your mouth. ‘They’re a Shelby too.’

He kisses you like he knows your retort already. That it’s more reason than any to worry, another Tommy, another Shelby. The risk follows the name, trapped in the bloodline. You stress enough for the kids you already have and now the cycle is bound to repeat. His palms find your cheeks before the anxiety can fester. His kiss is soft, then firm, then taken away all too soon. 

‘I love you,’ he says, serious and dedicated, ‘and I won’t let anything happen, not to you, not to the baby. Not to Charlie or Ruby. That comes first, alright, before all of it.’

You nod between his hands. ‘Okay, Tom.’

‘You believe me?’

‘I believe you,’ you tell him. ‘You haven’t lied to me yet.’

Another kiss. Another taste of him on your lips. ‘Never will,’ he promises. After all, you’re his duty as much as this party is, as much as his family is. It’s been that way since you married him, it would be that way until the end. Tommy looking out for you, keeping the flowers in the vases, the hope in the in-betweens.

‘Shall we go back to our guests?’ you ask.

His arms tighten around you, a low hum rising in his throat. ‘They can wait,’ he says, ‘my wife needs me.’ 

[bluedraggy]

Beatrice Santello - Part 2 #11

Image by ottoOttsy

Cemetery and Proposal

The service was a melancholy affair as a warm spring rain fell outside the chapel at the church, but Bea felt like that was appropriate. The casket, of course, was closed, but she greeted both Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. Pastor K. said a brief few words and both Mae and Gregg were blessedly subdued.

Bea said goodbye to her friends after the service as they weren’t feeling like going to the burial, but it had been a while since Bea had spent time with her mother so she turned on her car’s lights and followed the train of cars to the cemetery.  The rain had stopped and the grave site was covered by a tent anyway, so other than getting a little mud on her boots, it was alright. Casey’s parents were reserved as could be expected, considering they were burying their son.

She’d managed to keep her composure until they lowered the casket into the ground, but memories of her mother’s burial came flooding back and she was unable to hold back the tears any longer. All the assurances of the afterlife and that the dead person’s soul lived forever didn’t help. She left shortly after and walked back to her car where she got out the flowers she’d bought earlier, then walked back to where her mother’s headstone stood up stark against the wet ground.

“Hi Mom,” she said quietly to the grave. “I brought you some flowers. Damn, I hope you’re there somewhere. They just buried Casey. I never really told you about him, did I? I don’t know if you, like, know my mind. I hope not. It would be embarrassing. But I think I was in love with him. Well, really I know I was. He was killed by some nut jobs here, but I’d broken up with him before that because he brought drugs and stuff into the Pickaxe. Casey, if you can hear me too… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to shut off the shudders that were coming on - a sure prelude to another round of crying.  It worked.

“Anyway, Mom, Dad’s doing alright I guess. We miss you. I miss you. I’ve got enough for the lease on the building, inventory and taxes this month. Still can’t hire Germ full time, though. Bill’s still there, but I keep him out of the store as much as I can. He hasn’t done anything for a long time though, so I think it’s okay. Sorry I haven’t been back more often.”

A little while later, she stood up again and brushed the mud off her knees. She looked over to where Casey’s grave was. Workmen were taking down the tent and two other men were shoveling more dirt over it, filling it in. Everyone else had left. She took a flower from her mom’s bouquet and walked back to where the shovelers were just finishing up.

There was no headstone, so she just dropped the flower over the mound.

“The headstone will be installed next week,” said a voice she recognized behind her. She didn’t turn around.

“Hi Pastor K. Why are you still here?”

“Oh, I guess I’m like you. I know a lot of people buried here. You cared a lot about Casey, didn’t you?”

It was more a statement than a question. Bea just nodded.

“I know I’m supposed to tell you he’s in a better place and all that, Bea. But even us religious people don’t know for sure of course. I suppose no one alive does. That’s why they call it ‘faith’ I guess.”

“Do you have faith? Do you think he’s still around… somewhere?”

“I have faith. It’s all we have, Bea. Still agnostic I suppose? I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming to service some day?”

“I’d feel like a hypocrite, Pastor K.”

“We’re all hypocrites, Bea. We do the best we can though. I think someday you’ll be a regular - but you have to find your own way home first.”

Bea turned around to face the diminutive pastor, anger flashing in her eyes.

“I can’t believe in your God, Pastor. A decent God wouldn’t allow things like this. And don’t give me that Mysterious Ways crap. The only God that would allow this doesn’t give a shit about us. Surely you know that!”

“We’re alive, Bea. He’s not, but we are.”

“We’re just amoebas. Scum on the surface of the earth.”

“Now you’re just venting. It’s okay, Bea. Venting is good sometimes. Did you love him?”

Bea turned back to the grave, imagining the bones underneath it.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you just loved an amoeba? We’re more than that, Bea. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t hurt so bad.”

“I don’t believe in your religion, Pastor Karen, but I’m coming to understand the need for it at least. I’m glad you’re here. You help people get over things like this.”

“I try to help people cope, Bea, but no one gets over it. Death and religion are inseparable.”

“I saw him, Pastor. Down there in the mine. For just a minute, I thought I saw him. I was probably imagining it though.”

“Could be. Your mother believed, Bea.”

“Didn’t do her much good, did it.”

“I don’t know. She went through a lot, Bea, and not just the illness. She believed, and she loved you and your father an awful lot. I think her faith helped her get through each day.”

“Careful, Pastor K. My mom is a touchy subject with me, okay?”

“Okay Bea. But if you ever need to talk… you know where I am.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Bea said.

As if on cue, the rain began again. Pastor Karen opened her umbrella and handed it to Bea. She took it gratefully, and held it over both their heads as they walked back to where the cars waited.

************

The police finally released their report, detailing the Black Goat cult and their sacrifices. The story rekindled interest in Possum Springs for another month, but the attention on Bea and her friends who had first found the sacrifices waned as the magnitude of the crime was revealed. But even that horrific revelation soon faded from the public eye since all had apparently died in the cave-in and there would be no trial to focus attention on the murders.

Bea didn’t know any of the members well, and she was glad of that. Angus apparently knew one of them as a former co-worker at the Video Outpost II, but they’d never been friendly.

Spring had begun to turn towards summer when a man walked into the Pickaxe that Bea recognized immediately. This time, however, he wasn’t posing as a customer, nor did he attempt to surreptitiously record her inventory on his phone. Instead he walked up to the counter.

“Hello Bea, do you remember me?”

Germ wasn’t there that day, but Mae was in the warehouse cleaning up after a recent delivery.

“Mister video. Here to finish the job?”

The old gator smiled. “Oh Bea, we finished that ages ago. We know all about your business. Things have really picked up since the mine thing, haven’t they?”

It was true enough. Though the mine was well sealed now, there were plenty of caves in the area too and spelunking in the area had really picked up. She had taken advantage of the renewed interest by stocking a wide variety of climbing and caving hardware and becoming familiar with their use. She cringed now, thinking back to. the amateurish methods they had used back then, and how lucky they’d been not to have hurt themselves.

“We’re doing alright. What do you want Mr. Video?”

“The name is Brown. Hamilton Brown. I work for a competitor of yours, MISS Santello.”

The guy had done his homework.

“I see. And why shouldn’t I kick you out again right now, Mr. Brown?”

He reached into his jacket and brought forth a manila envelope.

“We want to buy you out, Bea.”

Bea looked at the envelope. It was thick with papers.

“Not much of a competitor if you just buy out the competition.”

“Look through those papers tonight before you reject our offer out of hand. We’ve already bought the land out by the Interstate. Groundbreaking will commence soon. As soon as the news hits, this offer will be rescinded.”

Bea’s eyes opened wide. “Home Badger.”

Mr. Brown nodded.  “Bea, we will put you out of business and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You know it already. But we have a proposal for you. An absurdly lucrative proposal, given your revenue.  But we do our research too. Somehow, even as young as you are, you’ve amassed quite a lot of good will here in Possum Springs. Especially after finding those kids’ bodies. Good will is a valuable and very tangible thing. We’re willing to pay for it.”

“So, what’s your angle, Mr. Brown? You just want to buy the Pickaxe, and shut it down?”

“There are those who had intended something like that. But they’ve been overruled. No, Bea. We want to buy the Pickaxe and keep it open - as an extension of the new mega-store Home Badger. We’ll even keep the name. ‘The Ol’ Pickaxe - Your Neighborhood Store, by Home Badger’. You may not have noticed, but the downtown area here is going through something of a renaissance. We’d like to be a part of that.”

“I already am a part of that,” Bea said, sliding the envelope back. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

“Bea,” said Mr. Brown, sliding the envelope back again. “Please, take a look. We’re not your enemy - or at least we don’t have to be. We can be your partner, if you’ll consider it. Bea, it may take a year or two, but eventually your business is going to fade as your customers begin to abandon you. You could keep the doors open, but your profits will dwindle even more. You’re barely making ends meet now, and that’s with… shall we say… questionable employment practices. It will only get worse. Please, consider it. Talk it over with your father.”

Bea’s natural reaction was to fight it. But time had tamed her tendencies to snap judgments.

She looked at the old gator. Underneath his polished exterior, his eyes looked bright. 

“Do you get a bonus if I agree, Mr. Brown?”

“Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good deal. I think you’ll agree when you read the details. You’ll want to hire a lawyer to go over the fine print, but I’m confident there’s nothing in there that you’ll be opposed to.”

“It’s not my store, you know,” Bea said, but she took the envelope and put it on a shelf under the counter.

“No, but it might as well be. Your father isn’t well. You’ve done very good by him, but he’s not getting better. He needs help, Bea. Professional help. And not by your Dr. Hanks. This could provide that help.”

“At the cost of the business he worked all his life to build,” Bea responded, but without much heat. She wasn’t so sure.

“Read the offer, Bea. It’s only the first two pages that covers all the major points.”

“The devil is in the details though.”

“That’s what lawyers are for, but I don’t think you’ll find any devils in here. You know what we want, Bea. We’re willing to pay handsomely for it. What we really want is your goodwill. We don’t want the people in and around Possum Springs to see us as big-city interlopers. We want to be your partner. But yes, we would own the Pickaxe.”

“Get out of my store, Mr. Brown.”

He nodded and produced a card. It had only his name and a phone number printed on it, but the background color was the unmistakable hue of the Home Badger. She took it and slid it in with the other papers in the envelope as he left.

Mae came in from the back.

“Who was that?”

Bea looked up from the envelope. When she’d opened it to insert the card, she’d seen a number on the first page. A very, very large number.

“Huh? Oh. That’s Mr. Brown. Nothing important.”

[timelordthirteen]

Synchronicity 1/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Teen

Summary: Storybrooke, Maine is a haven for people who haven't found or who have lost their soulmates, allowing them to live a happy, peaceful life away from the pressure to find their One True Love. Elias Gold doesn't believe in soulmates, or rather, he doesn't think there's one in the world for him. Until the library reopens.

Notes: So, this is a one-shot for now, but it will be expanded in the future. I like to call this my anti-soulmate soulmate AU because the idea that you have to find your soulmate to be happy, that there is a person out there in the world that you will know is The One the moment you see or touch or talk to them feels like it craps on the entire concept of what a relationship should be. So, I had this idea, wherein Gold and Belle are two people who have no soulmate, and who are trying to go through life without being overwhelmed by the constant nagging pressures of a society that doesn't understand or accept them. For the Writer's Month prompt #16: soulmates.

[AO3]

Elias Gold did not believe in True Love.

Well, it was a bit more complicated than that. He did, as a general concept, believe in the existence of a bond between persons, which had come to be referred to as Soulmates. Such bonds had been scientifically proven after all, and there were enough pairs of soulmates in the world now that it was far more the norm to have one than not.

There were even professional services, both public and private, dedicated to searching out pairings for people. So extraordinary was the energy between soulmates, that it could alter them on a physical level, including, but not limited to, an enhancement of one’s sight that was described as a fog being lifted such that one could finally see the true beauty of the world. Emotionally, the sense of love and tranquility in these relationships, had come to be known as True Love.

However, Gold did not believe that he, specifically, could ever experience the romantic form of True Love, nor did he entertain the idea that he had a soulmate. He had tried several different services, all claiming to be able to find him his Soulmate, and absolutely none of them succeeding. His hope had been shattered over and over again, and he had learned through the years to be content with the state of things.

His son, Neal, had a soulmate, found rather accidentally at a summer camp a year ago. Both of them were only ten and found the whole thing silly, but there was no denying the connection between Neal and Emma. Emma’s parents were soulmates, of course, and though sometimes their interactions were so lovey dovey that they made Gold feel ill, he liked them well enough individually. If things were to proceed as planned, he’d be seeing a fair bit of them over the course of Neal’s life, and he would just have to accept that they, like so many others, had what he couldn’t have.

These days it was strange for anyone to have a child with someone who wasn’t their soulmate, but at the time Gold and his now ex-wife Milah, had believed it could be enough to bind them together for the long haul. They were both in their mid-thirties when they met, and hadn’t found their soulmates. They’d met through a mutual friend, and got on well enough that they started dating. Plenty of people dated until they found who they were meant to be with, but there was always the understanding that it was temporary.

When Milah told him she was pregnant, he didn’t think twice about marrying her, no matter how out of the ordinary society might have found it. It wasn’t as if they were the only people who found happiness outside of the soulmate bond of True Love.

Unfortunately, a few years later, Milah found her mate, and the peaceful life Gold thought he had made for himself fell apart. Milah divorced him and moved across the country, and Gold found refuge in the town of Storybrooke, Maine, founded by an enclave of folks who were mate-less. Some had found their soulmate only to lose them to a deadly disease, or a tragic accident. Others were simply too old to go looking any longer, or, as Gold believed, had none at all.

He couldn’t say it was all bad though. Neal had a good relationship with his mother and step-father, a man named Rogers. Rogers was a police detective in Seattle, and Milah had found a new career working for an international soulmate search company. Twice a year, Neal went out to visit them, sometimes over his birthday, other times over a holiday. This year he would be staying for Christmas and New Years. Gold was not looking forward to being alone, but he knew that he and Neal would make up for it later.

That was still a few months off, however. School was starting next week, and Gold had heard the town finally found a new librarian. There was always a curiosity around newcomers in places like Storybrooke. Everyone wanted to know what mate-less category they fit into, and if they’d be moving on once they found their soulmate. The previous librarian, a woman named Wendy Darling, had, after nearly sixty years of life, found hers and left.

Naturally, most of the town was happy for her. Gold just sneered and demanded the security deposit back on her apartment. What did she care? She was about to be deliriously happy for the rest of her life, however short that might be.

The world wasn’t always a kind place, and for people like Gold there was a constant tinge of gray. Neal had tried to describe the colors he saw after meeting Emma, but all it ever did was make Gold annoyed. He understood that his son would see things differently, both figuratively and literally, but he didn’t want to hear about it in agonizing detail. He’d adapted a long time ago, treating it as if he was colorblind all together. His wardrobe consisted of mostly dark, sedate colors that were easily matched between shirts and tailored suits. His home was filled with antiques and knick-knacks, in a comfortable level of clutter that made his life feel somehow less empty by its very existence. The outside of the old Victorian was allegedly salmon pink, whatever that was, but to him it just looked vaguely brown and faded.

It didn’t bother him that he’d never see the world as Neal did. He was happy for the boy, truly, and when he looked at his son there was a light there that didn’t exist around anyone else. His love for his child was so great that at least in that small way, he was blessed by a true, unconditional love. Still, the townsfolk labeled him a bastard, and made remarks about how it was no wonder that there was no soulmate for him.

Who could possibly love such a beast?

He reveled in the idea. It meant that he was correct after all, there was no one for him, and that True Love was not the universal ideal that everyone made it out to be. Maybe, in time, enough people would be like him that it wouldn’t matter, and the quest to find the one singular person on whom all your hopes and dreams hung would be a naive fairytale at best.

Gold looked out the window of his pawn shop, eyes narrowing at the building across the street.

Trucks were parked in front of the library with several workmen unloading boxes and carrying them inside. The building had been closed for over a year, but at the last city council meeting, Mayor Mills had announced that it would be reopening due to the hiring of a new librarian.

He hadn’t seen any sign of this new librarian, but in his mind, he pictured an older woman, gray hair, a mouth that always looked like it was frowning, and a severe stare, like the Mother Superior at the convent. He smirked and opened the door, intending to nose around the library and see what was happening. The new librarian would need to sign a lease on the upstairs apartment, and, as it was his building anyway, he should be the one to bring it to her.

He stepped outside and immediately collided with someone.

“Oh!” came a high, soft voice.

Gold staggered backwards, one arm going out to try to brace against the building while the other squeezed the handle of his cane and pushed it against the concrete. Something fell to the ground with a soft thud, and a mass of hair hit him in the face.

“I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head and squared his shoulders as he stepped back, brow knit in annoyance. A young woman turned around, her dark hair flipping over her shoulder. She bent to pick up a book, and when she straightened, his lips parted and a for a long moment he held his breath.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.

He met her gaze and held it, astonished by how blue her eyes seemed to be. Something was different about her, but after a long moment, he realized he was staring and recovered, fixing her with his best overdue renter scowl. “You should watch where you’re going, Miss -?”

“French,” she said, smiling. “Belle French. I’m the new librarian.”

His eyes trailed over her. The rest of her looked normal as far as he was concerned, the same drab, muted colors he always saw, but her eyes stuck out so strangely. He glanced down and saw her hand held out, presumably waiting for him to shake it, but he ignored her and she let it drop to her side.

“And you are…?”

Belle’s eyes settled on his again, and he felt the disconcerting sensation that he was falling forward, that the world had somehow started to pivot around him and gravity had been thrown out the window. The blue of her eyes seemed to shift as he watched, brightening like a lamp being turned on, or the sun slanting through glass at just the right angle.

“Mr. Gold,” he replied finally, setting his cane in front of him, hands folded over the handle as stability returned. “I believe, Miss French, that we need to discuss the matter of your rent.”

“Oh, I’m not here to rent an apartment.” Then she held up the book she’d dropped after running into him. “I was told you might deal in rare books, and I was wondering about finding another copy of this.”

The book in her hands was thick and gray, though Gold supposed it could have been blue as well. He frowned and scanned the titled before rolling his eyes. Her Handsome Hero.

“I’m afraid, Miss French, that I don’t traffic in trashy airport gift shop romance novels.”

Her face fell, and for a second he was almost disappointed.

“I see,” she said softly. “Well, thank you anyway.”

She turned to cross the street, but stopped with one foot off the curb. When she turned back to him, something about her expression made him think she was having the same odd dizzy feeling he had, but then she shook her head and gave him a small smile and a shrug. “Maybe I’ll see you at the library?”

With that Belle French crossed the road, and Gold’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head and the odd feeling that had come upon him so suddenly, abated, but the color of her eyes remained alarmingly strange in his mind. He glanced up and down Main Street in front of his shop, but nothing about the world had changed as far as he could see.

“How strange,” he said to no one.

[welcometothepenumbra]

SECOND CITADEL – KNIGHT OF THE CROWN, LORD OF THE SWAMP (PART ONE)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra. Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

The junction lies just ahead, Traveler. If you'll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

(CHUCKLES) Well, next stop? The Second Citadel.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Sir Damien is the most accomplished knight in the Second Citadel – or tied for it, at any rate. In the name of keeping his monster-slaying record to the same height as his friend and rival Sir Angelo, Sir Damien has fought monsters while sick, comatose, and, as is the case tonight, with a broken leg.

But it won’t be the broken leg that gets in Sir Damien’s way this evening. There’s something very special about the monster slithering into the Citadel tonight. And it’s going to take more than strength to defeat him.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES. DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

Our next stop: Knight of the Crown, Lord of the Swamp.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

VOICE 1: It was late at night, the first hour by the clock, my love, and the beast had me by the throat, its claws digging into my—

VOICE 2: I saw the scar, Damien. You showed me this morning.

VOICE 1 (DAMIEN): Oh, but surely I didn’t tell you this part, Rilla—

VOICE 2 (RILLA): Is this the one about the monster’s claws, which were “full of poison so thick you could see it in your veins?”

DAMIEN: Well… yes. A-alright, then, did I tell you that my—

RILLA: —leg was broken. You were in the infirmary.

DAMIEN: And the foul beast—!

RILLA: —had its tail wrapped around your shattered femur?

DAMIEN: Well, did I– you must not know– um…

RILLA: (LAUGHS)

DAMIEN: Wh– what is it? Is there something on my face? Have I done something foolish?

RILLA: You told me all about the bedtime basilisk this morning, Damien. Remember? I made you the antidote to its poison.

DAMIEN: Oh… Yes, I… suppose I did.

Well, I’m just… ecstatic! What luck, a monster trying to kill me in my sleep! And when Angelo nearly broke our tie with that soggy parrot in the caves!

RILLA: And that’d just be the end of the world, huh.

DAMIEN: It would.

RILLA: Look, Damien. I know you’re worried about your contest with Sir Angelo—

DAMIEN: Worried? I have no reason to be worried. I never think about it. Never.

RILLA: But going back to duty two days after breaking your leg seems just a little hasty to me.

DAMIEN: Oh, it’s only guard duty. The Queen’s private chambers practically guard themselves.

RILLA: Shouldn’t you be in bed?

DAMIEN: Oh, is that your concern!

MUSIC: ENDS.

(CHUCKLES) My duty has nothing to do with the wager Sir Angelo and I have, Rilla. No, no. You sound just like the Queen.

RILLA: God, I hope not.

SOUND: DISTANT FESTIVAL MUSIC.

DAMIEN: I was speaking to her just this afternoon. “Sir Damien!” she said. “What are you doing out of the infirmary? You’ve broken your leg into eight pieces!” “But ah, my Queen,” I said, “there you are wrong; I’ve only broken it into five pieces, three of which have nearly halfway healed, and what sort of a knight would I be if I let a little fall prevent me from my duty?”

RILLA: This is not reassuring.

DAMIEN: She commanded me back to the infirmary, and so I declared, “My Queen, I must speak my heart. Demons of sloth and idleness beset me. In that bed, I will be victim to the torments of a thousand monsters of the soul, corruptors which will surely place my heart within a pot and boil it until it beats no more! I must do my duty! I cannot lie still while those demons draw breath.”

RILLA: You were worried you’d be bored.

DAMIEN: Of course not.

…Ohhh, my Rilla, my Amaryllis, my forever-flower, I must speak my heart.

RILLA: (SIGHS) Okay.

DAMIEN: I’ve acted a terrible fiend just now. I have lied to you. Yes, I was worried I’d be bored. Yes, I was concerned about my competition with Sir Angelo.

RILLA: I know. It’s alright.

DAMIEN: I just think, sometimes, that I met him because our monster-slaying records were tied, and they have been for as long as we’ve been friends and rivals, and if either one of us were ever to break that record then would we– would we—

RILLA: Still be friends? With Sir Angelo? The Sir Angelo who heard you were in the infirmary and brought you a get-well tree?

DAMIEN: It was more of a bush, really, hardly two men tall!

RILLA: Damien. Stop. Breathe. Think.

(SIGHS) Come on, hold my hand. We’re going to look out over the Queen’s balcony.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

DAMIEN: But I’m only supposed to guard, not enter the—

SOUND: DOOR UNLATCHING.

Rilla!

SOUND: DISTANT CROWD CHATTER, MUSIC GROWS LOUDER.

RILLA: Nobody will notice. The Queen’s going to be out waving at crowds and kissing babies for hours. And you don’t want to miss the whole festival, do you?

DAMIEN: No, but… oh, alright.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

Saints above, it’s beautiful.

RILLA: It is, isn’t it? They really outdo themselves every year. I don’t like to admit it, but… I always look forward to the Festival of the Three. The flags, the fights, even those goofy-looking tents.

DAMIEN: It’s Saint Aaron’s Night tonight. You should go see some of the fights in the square.

RILLA: I don’t think so.

I think I’d rather be here. With you.

SOUND: KISS.

DAMIEN: Rilla… I must speak my heart.

RILLA: Shhh. I think you just did.

DAMIEN: When… when will we be married?

RILLA: (SIGHS) You know that, Damien. Soon.

DAMIEN: But… why not marry during the festival?

RILLA: You want to get married tonight?

DAMIEN: It wouldn’t have to be tonight! The festival lasts three nights! We have two full days to prepare!

RILLA: Damien…

DAMIEN: It would be perfect! The Festival of the Three is a ceremony of building. We could build our life together just as the Saints built our Second Citadel!

RILLA: (CHUCKLES) Alright. Sell me on it, then.

DAMIEN: It happened hundreds of years ago. Our First Citadel lay in ruins. Every knight in the kingdom was slain; our King, devoured.

RILLA: I know the story—

DAMIEN: Shhhhh, shh-shh-shh-shh. You don’t know this version.

RILLA: Alright. Go ahead, Sir poet.

DAMIEN: The human race was on its final breath, and the monsters began their assault. The beasts sent three parties to destroy humanity over three days: one by land, one by sea, and one by air. And they would have succeeded – if it hadn’t been for three brothers, lowly workmen in a village by the sea.

RILLA: Our saints, right.

DAMIEN: On the first day, the monstrous hordes came by land, riding over the mountains to the north… until they were met by the oldest brother, a mason, Saint Aaron the Resolute, who struck the earth with his hammer again, and again, and again, until the ground opened up and swallowed every foul beast to the shadows below.

On the second day, they came again, this time by sea. And who met them in the sea, my love?

RILLA: Someone with a dumb name and even dumber followers.

DAMIEN: My divine lord and namesake Saint Damien the Tranquil met them there; and he stared into those gaping maws beneath the waves and he did not move an inch… until precisely the right moment. Then he threw his fisherman’s-spear into the waves at just such an angle, and just such a force, that a mighty whirlpool spun and shredded the demons to chum.

RILLA: And on the third day they came by air, and no one was there to stop them.

DAMIEN: No one at all… until the child. Saint Ferdinand the Brave. And while the people ran screaming from the shadows above, Saint Ferdinand held his ground. And that bravest of boys held his slingshot high; and just as the first blast of fire came from the first of those terrible creatures in the sky, Saint Ferdinand let forth, and through his courage his pebble became a thunderbolt which struck every dragon from the heavens, and the world was clean once more.

RILLA: Exciting story, Damien. But it was the same exciting story that gets told at this festival every single year. I thought you said this would be different.

DAMIEN: Well, I haven’t gotten to the ending, have I? Because after that day, when humanity survived our Citadel’s fall, we began to rebuild. Centuries passed. A new and greater Citadel was formed, and in it were born two people: one a knight, one a genius herbalist. One a man, and one a woman…

RILLA: Oh, come on, Damien.

DAMIEN: And they fell in love, and they resolved to live a life together. A life of love and opportunity that the Saints would have wanted for those to come. Two in union. Simple. Strong. As we were meant to be.

Amaryllis, will you marry me?

RILLA: I said yes months ago.

DAMIEN: I would like to hear it again.

RILLA: Yes, Damien. I’ll marry you.

SOUND: DISTANT DRUMMING.

DAMIEN: What was that? A monster? A demon?!

RILLA: It’s midnight of the festival’s first day, Damien. Those are just Saint Aaron’s drums.

DAMIEN: Right. Of course, of course.

I should return to my watch.

RILLA: I should probably go check on my experiments back home.

Have a good night, Damien. Don’t strain yourself.

DAMIEN: I won’t.

RILLA: You will, but I thought I should say it anyway. Come over to my place tomorrow and tell me how it went, alright?

DAMIEN: I will. Good night, Rilla.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING. DOOR CLOSES.

(SIGHS) Saint Damien above, give me your tranquility. She has been gone but seconds and already my heart begins to ache. She said she’d marry me, Saint. Marry me! It’s enough to make a knightly heart burst with joy, with Rilla, my Amaryllis—

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

—little flower, my… my… but… she never said when, did she?

SOUND: DOOR CLOSES. FESTIVAL SOUNDS GROW MUFFLED.

Did I ask her when? I– I don’t recall. Did I ask her and she didn’t answer? Wha-what does that mean, Saint Damien? D-does it mean she doesn’t want to marry me? That she doesn’t love me?! P-perhaps she doesn’t today; perhaps she never has, or-or what if—

No, no. That’s… absurd. Saint Damien above, give me your tranquility. Your tranquility.

But… then why wouldn’t she answer?

Have I pressured her too much? Oh no, no… but-but-but-but what if I have? What if I always have? I’ll have to ask her. I could go right now, it-it would be just a moment, but– but what if some foul beast should come when I am tending to my weakness of the heart, what if—

SOUND: MUFFLED CRASH.

(GASPS) What in the world…?

???: Tktktktk…

SOUND: INSECT-LIKE HISSING & RATTLING.

DAMIEN: Saints above…! Something in the Queen’s chambers! Oh tranquility, fill this arrow with your calm, your strength…

SOUND: BOWSTRING STRETCHES. DOOR CREAKS OPEN, FESTIVAL SOUNDS GROW LOUDER. INSECT-LIKE HISSING & RATTLING.

???: Tktktktktktktktk—

SOUND: TWANG, SWISH, THUNK. SILENCE.

DAMIEN: Has it… disappeared?

VOICE 3: (CHUCKLES) If you think that was a disappearance, human, I’m afraid that says more about your eyes than my speed.

DAMIEN: Step back, beast. A Knight of the Queen will not tolerate a monster in Her Majesty’s chambers.

VOICE 3 (MONSTER): I’ll give you one chance, little knight. Three seconds to step back out that door and pretend you never saw me here. Tktktktktktktktk.

DAMIEN: A tempting offer.

MONSTER: One…

DAMIEN: Though I must say, I do find this spectacle fascinating.

MONSTER: Two…

DAMIEN: I’ve never seen a lizard count before – even one who walks on two legs.

MONSTER: Thre—

SOUND: TWANG, THUD.

Very tricky, little human. Your arrow almost struck me.

DAMIEN: If you think that was a trick, friend lizard, I’m afraid that says more about your eyes than my speed.

MONSTER: You may prove to be the quickest-witted human I ever kill, tktktktktktktktk.

DAMIEN: And you may prove to be the most cultured corpse I ever claim.

MONSTER: (HISSES)

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK.

DAMIEN: Ha!

SOUND: HEAVY THUMP.

MONSTER: (GROWLS) I didn’t think knights were such cowards. With that bow keeping you at a distance, you can move long before I ever reach you.

DAMIEN: And with those four knives in your four hands you could cut me to shreds in seconds. But if you can never approach, and I can never hit you…

MONSTER: A stalemate. (GROWLS) I don’t have time for this.

DAMIEN: Then I suppose we’ll have to come to some sort of agreement, won’t we?

MONSTER: Alright. My terms: first, you stand still. Then, you die.

DAMIEN: Declined. My counter-proposal: you drop three of your knives immediately.

MONSTER: Ha!

DAMIEN: Why not? Four minus three is one, and one weapon against one seems perfectly—

MONSTER: —so you humans have finally gotten around to mathematics, have you? Only one thousand years after us.

DAMIEN: Do you accept my terms?

MONSTER: I will not entertain your insults. A knife against a bow? Never.

DAMIEN: Well, I’ve no knife to use.

SOUND: SWISH.

Whoa!

MONSTER: There’s one.

DAMIEN: So there is. (GRUNTS)

MONSTER: Well? Drop your bow, now.

DAMIEN: I will if you throw your knives onto the balcony.

MONSTER: What?!

DAMIEN: I intend to have a fair fight, monster. Throw your knives, and I will throw my bow.

MONSTER: (GROWLS)

SOUND: METAL & WOODEN CLATTERING.

There. Are there any other rules? Can we fight, now, or do I have to draw a card first?

DAMIEN: No cards except the ones Fate deals us, demon.

MONSTER: And the quaint little prayer-cards they’ll print for your funeral, tktktktktktktktk.

DAMIEN: Approach me, beast, and we’ll see who dies. By the Saints above, I am tranquility itself.

MONSTER: And proud of it, aren’t you? Haaaaa!

DAMIEN: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BLADES SCRAPING. GRUNTING & PANTING.

MONSTER: (PANTING) You hold my knife like a butcher, little knight! Treat it with some respect!

DAMIEN: I may not have your skill with a blade, friend lizard, but I’ve twice your stamina. Winded already?

MONSTER: Stamina! You start dueling right after you’ve scaled a forty-foot wall. The rocks you humans threw together to build this tower are as slippery as they are structurally irresponsible. Haaaa!

DAMIEN: Oof!

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK. HEAVY THUMP.

(PANTING) Structurally irresponsible? Is architecture one of the lizard’s hobbies, then? You read floor plans while you sit on your eggs and bask in the sun?

MONSTER: You may waste your time with hobbies, little knight. I have only craft.

DAMIEN: A master architect-cum-burglar! Sneaking into people’s windows and then criticizing the moulding! These monsters think of everything, don’t they?

MONSTER: (ROARS)

DAMIEN: Oof!

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK. HEAVY THUMP.

Everything except boxing lessons, evidently. You’re likely to give yourself a concussion if you keep careening into corners this way.

MONSTER: (CHUCKLES)

DAMIEN: Perhaps the concussion has come earlier than expected.

MONSTER: And you, little knight? Are you a master of anything besides prattling on and on?

DAMIEN: No.

MONSTER: Well, at least you’re honest.

DAMIEN: I am a poet by trade, friend lizard. My words can strike at a heart with all the speed and power of my arrows. When I’m not beating evil counts, I’m counting holy beats; I am just as likely to disarm with a compliment as my blade. That cape looks quite handsome on you, by the way. It matches your eyes: violet as amethyst.

MONSTER: A poet! (LAUGHS) Delicate as honeysuckle, aren’t you? And your blood will be just as delicious, I think, tktktktktktktktk.

SOUND: BLADE SLASHES.

DAMIEN: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK, HEAVY THUMP.

MONSTER: (PANTING, THEN CACKLING)

SOUND: CRACKING, RUMBLING.

DAMIEN: What is it?

SOUND: RUMBLING GROWS. CHINA RATTLES.

What’s that noise?

MONSTER: I warned you, didn’t I? Completely unstable, these stones. All it took was a few blows in just the right places…

DAMIEN: When you hit the walls… you didn’t miss, did you?

MONSTER: I’ve never missed, little knight. And I’ve never lost, either. (CHUCKLES) With the correct stones out of place, the collapse will begin soon enough. First, you’ll hear cracks grow in the walls…

SOUND: CRACKING GROWS.

Ah, there they are. Then, perhaps things will start to crumble from the ceiling…

SOUND: CRASH.

…or the furniture might start to fall.

DAMIEN: You’re bluffing. Your tail struck that.

MONSTER: Perhaps. But are you certain? Is it really worth the risk?

SOUND: RUMBLING & RATTLING.

(CHUCKLES)

DAMIEN: Beast! Fix this! You’ve started this collapse, you must be able to fix it!

MONSTER: And why should I do that? Better yet: what makes you so certain there’s a way to stop this at all? Tktktktktktktktktk.

DAMIEN: I’ll kill you where you stand, demon! There must be a way to fix this!

MONSTER: Of course there is. A single brick could stop it all, if stabilized. But… that brick lies behind you, knight.

DAMIEN: Behind me? Where? I don’t see—

MONSTER: (HISSES, GROWLS)

DAMIEN: (GASPS)

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK.

Where are you? Show yourself, beast!

MONSTER: (LAUGHING) Tktktktktktktktk…

DAMIEN: He must be crawling in the shadows… along the wall and ceiling… could be anywhere…

MONSTER: (HISSES)

DAMIEN: (GASPS) No… no, collect yourself… breathe…

Oh, Saint Damien, you of patience, of calm, of the quiet waves and gentle breeze…

MONSTER: (LAUGHING)

SOUND: RUMBLING FADES, REPLACED BY OCEAN WAVES.

DAMIEN: Grant me your tranquility: the strength to wait while I must, to let the world flow through me…

MONSTER: Die, little honeysuckle! Haaaa!

SOUND: WHIP-CRACK. SHARP THUD, GASP OF PAIN.

DAMIEN: …and to strike when the time is right.

MONSTER: (PAINED GASPS) So you’ve… pierced my arm! It’s nothing! As soon as I get my knife again, I’ll—

SOUND: WAVES FADE OUT.

DAMIEN: You mean this knife?

SOUND: METAL CLINK.

MONSTER: (SIGHS)

DAMIEN: You don’t seem in a terrible rush, friend lizard. The tower isn’t collapsing, is it.

MONSTER: Of course it isn’t collapsing, you idiot! You can’t topple a tower by kicking the bedroom walls! With the foul things you creatures do in these rooms, you’d all be living in rubble.

DAMIEN: But you did know enough to make the walls crack… to make the foundation rumble. A very… special sort of monster, aren’t you?

MONSTER: Don’t patronize me! If you’re going to kill me, then do it!

DAMIEN: Of… of course.

MONSTER: (SIGHS) …Well? You do know how a knife works, don’t you? You just hold the sharp end to my throat and push.

DAMIEN: No. No, I don’t think I will.

MONSTER: Ohh, no. No, no – if you expect me to sit through another sappy little poem first, hand me that knife and I’ll kill myself.

DAMIEN: No poems. Here.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLES.

Bandage that arm tightly and the bleeding should stop.

MONSTER: Is this… silk?

DAMIEN: One of the Queen’s headscarves. Her collection is priceless, they say.

MONSTER: Your Queen! How… interesting.

DAMIEN: Yes, she is certain to be furious with me. But it is to be my punishment and my penance. I challenged you to an unfair duel.

MONSTER: (QUIETLY) The Queen… Tktktktktktktktk…

DAMIEN: I insisted we fight to my advantage. Half of my hands were armed, and only a fourth of yours were; an advantage two times over.

MONSTER: I’m not sure your numbers line up, honeysuckle.

DAMIEN: I am a poet, friend lizard, not a mathematician. Besides, it is clear from the cunning in your lips and the deep intelligence in your brow that hand-to-hand-to-hand-to-hand combat is not your greatest strength.

You are… a builder. No: an inventor. An architect. A very good one, I suspect.

MONSTER: The greatest.

DAMIEN: And if I finish you here, I’ll never know how great, will I?

SOUND: METALLIC CLATTER.

MONSTER: What are you doing?

DAMIEN: Giving you your knife. You will need it tomorrow.

MONSTER: Tomorrow! What sort of trick—

DAMIEN: No tricks, friend lizard. I will not kill you until I’ve beaten you at your best. Today, we fought in my domain, by my rules; tomorrow night, you will choose the location and the time of our duel.

MONSTER: (HISSING, CLICKING) A very interesting offer, little knight. Very interesting.

You know you will not survive that fight.

DAMIEN: It is possible. You are a very… capable beast.

MONSTER: Fine, then. You know Rakschakala, the oldest willow in the forest?

DAMIEN: Not offhand, I’m afraid. I’ve left my census of trees in my other armor.

MONSTER: Stupid—! Fine. It’s the grove just outside the western gate of this Citadel, just beside the– what do you creatures call it… th-the bells?

DAMIEN: Saint Damien’s Bells, beneath the Gate of Tranquility. I know it well.

MONSTER: Ugh. You humans take paragraphs where syllables would suffice.

DAMIEN: The grove outside the Bells, then. I imagine you will stock it with every trap of which your foul mind can conceive.

MONSTER: You say ‘foul,’ little knight, but you don’t mean it. The word is not in your heart.

Why?

DAMIEN: A healthy rivalry keeps a knight at his best.

MONSTER: No, no. No more poetry, no more dancing around an answer. You do not spare every monster – we both know it. So why me?

MUSIC: STARTS.

DAMIEN: I… am not certain I have the words for it.

MONSTER: Aren’t you supposed to be a poet? A professional prattler?

If you want me at my best tomorrow, you’ll have to find the words. Isn’t that what you creatures call ‘honor’?

DAMIEN: There’s…

…there’s something… human in your eyes.

MONSTER: O-of all the overblown…! Y-you’d never consider that there might be something monstrous in your eyes, would you?

DAMIEN: You asked. I answered.

MONSTER: I will delight in exploiting your every weakness, honeysuckle.

DAMIEN: I look forward to it. Tomorrow, then?

MONSTER: (HISSES) Tomorrow.

DAMIEN: Wait! One last question, friend lizard.

MONSTER: What is it?

DAMIEN: What… what is your name? I would like to know what to call the beast I’ll duel tomorrow.

MONSTER: If I had it my way, little knight, everyone would stay quiet and I wouldn’t have to be called anything at all.

(SIGHS) I am Lord Arum, who rules the Swamp of Titans’ Blooms.

DAMIEN: And I am Sir Damien, Knight of the Crown.

MONSTER (LORD ARUM): I’ll be sure to write that on your tombstone. Until tomorrow, Sir Damien. Tktktktktktktktk…

DAMIEN: …Until tomorrow, Lord Arum.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you've enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you'll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actors Noah Simes and Matthew Zahnzinger:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

NOAH: …and he is literally a lizard. (LAUGHS) Um, and then, y’know—

MATTHEW: Yes… yes he is. A key fact—

NOAH: Yes.

MATTHEW: —in the characters’ relationship.

NOAH: Yes, if you missed that, go back and listen. ‘Cause he’s super a lizard.

MATTHEW & NOAH: (LAUGHING)

NOAH: But– but, y’know, so trying to find something that feels… unhuman… and- and sort of base in that way that we think of, y’know, reptilian almo– y’know, means base in certain contexts, right…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Jaimie Gunter, The Princess and the Scrivener, and Elizabeth Miller for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Knight of the Crown, Lord of the Swamp, was told by the following people: Matthew Zahnzinger as Sir Damien, Noah Simes as Lord Arum, And Melissa Ennulat as Rilla.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Noah Simes is our production manager. Alice Chung is our designer and financial manager. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

I'm afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

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Sign our grandson grandson because the community between them who had the Osprey directly to their all is he wanted to downand walking around I know these are James issuesand is hoping a Fishing Prey Celebrate Diversity Vintage Retro T Shirt s my wee momand little Rudy but I hear a man is what you know about regular dummies like Walter still that way when a new pair shoes on the sidewalkand scratched 11 credit because everyone is allowed to see the bottom of the dishes so makes you look like 130 we just how that free flowing California on how the SI present to try syrup I in the 1920sand that you people are you name earlier we then you make sure that that legally the name is okay is only registering it so for all countriesand has successfully merchandise actually right everything like that it’s amazing how crazy with lots down ceilingand all that how I you just have to be carefuland make sure you are right there somebody said we want to know peanut penis is the phone real was 43 no area speaking you know you may be able to be on the phone rang the case for my daughter’s phone registered for starter home in case you take apartand take your life in your handsand reinstall itand I did that for missing a part of the actual face of the cases glass my tribe uses up a case for them in my the hole in itand I forgot glass the glass broken back so their zeal pink iPhoneand instead I took her case on itand that your caseand fill it with the Styrofoam start heating to make it light to clear plasticand print over the from the backand then I took a screenshotand printed itand put it in there like the you know the reason is why why would I do that is a real iPhone anywayand one reason only way way that his arms outstretched like this I went stress like thatand you be lightweightand wagerand see now is are made down well it’s epoxy resin but in my long asked him about my please this office ranges for second to show y’all something that you’re still going to sell the speaker the folks we had so much fake merchandise out there is anand that handful of companies that are profiting we’ve been hiding these fake merchandise guys for years almost a decade nowand there was one or two in particular that were were just awful they would steal my images they can take my pictures off the website they would take at the images by Tom Richmondand copy themand then use them verbatim or they would just adjust the artwork I would say it was mine any photos of meand put on a body sellers merchandise finally is done in a static amount of in 19 merchandiseand profiting off of his pandemicand I said to do that so we found a huge lawsuitand I it’s unbelievable how expensive these things get quicklyand I just decided I got to go after these guys is fairly good almost every artist that you can think of the time the rock band or country artist out there are a harness for that matter as any notoriety to had their their stuff stolenand that were abusedand then with their images or their name so we say one of the answer will be posted online I want go again got a screen was here close so here we are so this is the fake merchandise thing that we have put out thereand see if anybody can sign camera is greatand anyway but I just wish others to rebut internal humor in Canada so this right here is what we been sending out that is all fake that is real it’s all fakeand these guys still listen toand one particular guy in the is a huge huge huge business is like whack a mole but if you see a merchandise like this fear that we set up an email that we haven’t done that yet but please let us know when you get all this we probably will yet soand guarding the deadline know what was going to the article on your holy comedian in your twitter your grandand for all to see me picture holding something with merchandise never posted merchandise for you will never at least until further notice you will never see me holding something of my mind merchandise to tryand sell it ever from my website or if it’s not from my story Amazon eight on any of our whack a mole in these guys going after every single one of them not just to were born after all them so I literally the week our guys a report to the lawyersand take them 2000 different pieces of merchandise weekand I were suing these folks for as much as possibleand good portion of those proceeds are to donate to Cove in 19 charities so that had pastors you I think the skillful screen will just be meand a mers email reported also that you were dying itself fake Murch Jeff Dunham. Genocide and brittle assimilation policies that throughout our past tribal nations have fought for and help to build this country there are those like my Laguna grandparents who work in our country’s railroad and nose like my mother and Navy veteran who served this country with honor I stand here today a proud 35th generation the Mexican the first Native American women ever elected to Congress on the symbol of our resilience as the embodiment of America’s progress as a nation I know we can’t take our democracy for granted especially now as people are dying as our land is used as our Constitution is under attack we must work for by getting involved in registering voters authority loading sacred my people know that we were universally granted the right to vote until 1962 and that fundamental right is more important whenever when your ancestors had been here for hundreds of years are your new citizen now this weather we about how we vote will determine if our nation’s promise as social racial and environmental justice See Other related products: I Like Dogs And Wine And Hockey And Maybe 3 People T Shirt

[lunaschild2016]

Life As We Know It - Chapter 5

Rating: M (Smut, Language, Violence, Adult Themes)

Romance/Tragedy

Their lives seemed to be steeped in tragedy. Through it all they had each other until wrong choice brought it all crashing down. Eric had never been able to make up for the mistake he made, but he never stopped trying. Once again tragedy strikes turning everything upside down. Now, for little Ava they will have to come together once more. AU Eric/OC M No War No Divergent Hunts

A/N: This is a completed story that I have posted on another site as well. But thought I would add it here since I just started this account. I hope you enjoy.

@kenzieam @ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@captainviolets@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@pathybo  @lauraaan182​

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Chapter 5

Kira plopped onto the couch, shopping bags plopped onto it around her and groans when Tris and Shayla walk in carrying more with laughs. “You guys tricked me dammit.” She pouted, causing them to laugh.

Shay shakes her head. “How did I trick you, Akira? I said that we should spend the day together and that we needed to get a few things.”

Kira glares at her friend. “We couldn’t carry everything on our own, Shayla. We had to call in reinforcements.” She frowns and looks at the door. “Speaking of, where are the reinforcements?”

That is answered by huffing and puffing as the door to her apartment is thrown open and the tall and lanky figure of Four is struggling to get the item he has one end of walked backwards through the door. “Gods dammit Eric! Do you not know how to move shit? You have to angle it to get it in the door.”

“Watch yourself Four” Eric tries to sneer but it just comes out in a grunt. “I know how to move shit. You tell me how I am supposed to angle the fucker when there is no angle for me to reach.” He growls and strains in trying to lift the monstrosity of a box that contains gods knows what. “And what the fuck is in this shit!” He yells from the hallway.

Kira frowns at Shayla. “Shayla, you could have told them that breaks down into parts so it can be carried and moved a bit easier.”

Tris runs to the bathroom in fits of laughter at the growl of pure frustration and anger from Eric in the hallway and the jaw dropping of Four. “Put it down Four. I have a sister to skin!” Eric yells from the hallway.

Shay looks truly a bit scared. “I’m sorry it slipped my mind. Kira did tell me, but I was just too excited to start getting everything set up for Ava’s birthday party.” Shay was trying not to cry but it was just so hard to believe her little girl was going to be a year old already.

“Is she fucking crying?” Eric asked his eyes wide and buckling under the weight of whatever the hell was in this. “Fuck it! I am about to drop this shit!”

“Wait! You might bend the metal and I will be pissed as hell!!” Kira yells then pops up and runs over to the area where Four is lowering the box. “Lower your side now Eric.”

They finally get it lowered and Kira pulls a knife out of her pocket, flicks it open and starts to cut into the tape on the box. Eric grumbles and climbs over the box into the door, yanks the knife from her and starts cutting into it on his own. “Think I deserve to see what the shit I just put my back out of place for Kira.”

Kira huffs and throws her hands up in the air. “It’s the damn fire-pit-grill table. The guy had it ready and Shayla wanted to be able to use it for the party anyways.”

At that Eric lost some of his anger and looked around to her. “The one we designed? When did you get that order in?”

Kira smiled and nodded. “Yes, the one we designed. And when you were at the marathon of meetings with Erudite for your side of the projects. I knew Shay would want to have the party here because the balcony is so big. And now that you decided to tear down the divider wall between our two balconies it’s even bigger.”

Eric smirked then got a smug grin. He had done that while work was being done on her apartment. He had taken over seeing to it since she was being a bit of a pushover. “Told you it was a good idea.”

Kira rolled her eyes and shook her head and tried not to be pleased. It was a good idea. As were a bunch of the things he had seen to being done for her apartment. He made sure she got what she had mentioned wanting to the workmen but wasn’t pressing for. Eric did enough of that for her.

“Shayla we need to get all the shit you made me buy for my apartment and the clothes you made me buy put away. I am guessing Uri, Emmett and the others will be here shortly with the other items.”

Kira’s mood turned sour at the thought of all the shopping she had been forced to do as she started gathering bags. Tris finally came back into the room with a smile and looked at Kira. “Are you still pissed at me Kira?”

Kira whipped her head up to lock eyes with her friend and glared. “Yes. You are supposed to my battle buddy and keep me from shit like this happening and you were the one that led me into the damn ambush, Tris!”

There were snickers all around and Tris sighed. “I wouldn’t have had to ambush you if you did something besides stay locked in an office, the workshop or constantly flitting between one project site or the other. You are still living out of boxes all except the room you made for Ava. Your apartment doesn’t have half of the shit it needs. You have no food here.” She pops a hip out and puts a hand on it. “Do I need to go on?”

Kira takes a breath and shakes her head. “No, I just don’t understand why we had to get it all done in one damn day.”

Eric comes up behind her and leans in to speak softly and soothingly to her. But also teasing her. “Because you are a known workaholic with a severe shopping phobia. This was ripping the band aide off to get it over with. Now you can just relax and enjoy Ava’s party tomorrow during the day and your own leadership party that night.”

“Hmmm, where Chris is involved in parties there is no relaxation. But you are right, I guess.” She takes a breath and nods then moves off to start putting things up.

Four quirks an eyebrow as he starts to pull out the pieces of the fire-pit-grill table and gets to an entire instruction manual. “She made an instruction manual for it?”

Eric snorted and nodded as he started helping again. “It’s Akira. Micromanager extraordinaire. Of course she did. But also it was suggested so she could sell the design. This one is a beast though because we made it longer to accommodate everyone. Plus there are the benches that go along with it. So it all takes a little bit of work and the instructions help.”

Four shakes his head with a knowing smirk. He looks over at Eric who is looking way too fucking smug just in general but more about this damn hunk of metal at the moment. “You made the instruction manual didn’t you?”

Tris, Shayla and Kira laugh as they come in on this last part after having taken the first load of bags to her room.

Kira smirks over at Eric. “Busted Coulter. Actually we both designed the table and made up the instruction manual. He took over on parts because I wasn’t being detail oriented enough, so he says.”

Eric scowls and shakes his head. “You had to look at it like someone might not know what a damn flat head screwdriver was Kira. Not everyone is gearhead like you and me. So yeah, I put in the damn description of what tool went where. It should be relatively idiot proof now.” He mumbled the last bit thinking that there were bound to be some idiots that still wouldn’t get it.

Talk is stopped as the rest of the gang starts coming with boxes, bags and furniture that Kira had been putting off getting for the apartment. Shay and Eric take stock of everything and then start delegating where to put stuff while Tris and Kira end up going to the grocery store with Lynn to get the food she has been putting off stocking up on.

They have two carts since some of it is for tomorrow and the birthday party as well as for pre-leadership party bash snacks. The rest is for her to stock up on because she does love to cook. As they are going through the aisle for the things to make the cakes, cookies and other little goodies for Ava’s birthday; Kira decides to broach a topic with Lynn and Tris.

“Hey Lynn, I have a question for you.” Kira starts out after having taking a breath to gather courage.

Lynn grins at her and gets a smart ass look. “I may have an answer for you. What’s up?”

Tris and Kira had laughed at her cheek but then Kira nodded to her. “I know you and Candice are all committed and everything, but did you ever have a fuck buddy?”

Tris fumbles with the bag of flour she was picking up and luckily doesn’t break it open. “Kira!” She exclaims looking at her friend and her forehead furrowed.

Lynn breaks out into laughter while Kira turns red but she frowns. “What?”

Lynn bites her lip and stops laughing. “Yeah I had a few in my time. Why Kira? Thinking about setting one of those up?”

Kira turns even more red and busily starts to arrange the cart. Tris gasps “You haven’t already have you?”

Kira pops up and glares at her. “Like when do I have the damn time Tris? No I haven’t yet. But I think….I think I want to.” Kira doesn’t know who it would be but something has to happen. Her and Eric are almost always in physical contact now and it is driving her crazy.

She doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they have again. It feels too good to have him back in her life. At the same time it is like once that wall of keeping apart like that came down, all these boundaries started to be crossed. She wanted him so badly it was almost all consuming.

Lynn frowns and shrugs. “Ok. Was there someone in mind?” Kira doesn’t see it but Tris and Lynn share a look. No one in their group could miss the change in Kira and Eric over the last month. They had grown impossibly close and probably aren’t even aware how often they touch almost as lovers would.

Kira shakes her head with a frown. “No I just heard some guys talking about that Sam needed to just get a fuck buddy to get things worked out or something like that. I don’t know how one goes about getting one though. I mean do you advertise it or something?”

Tris turns red and gulps at the conversation but can admit she is curious how that would work. Not that she wants it but the concept of it is new to her.

Lynn laughs and shakes her head. “No. You usually have a friend or someone you trust but are attracted to that you make the deal with.

Kira deflates slightly at that. There aren’t exactly any in her inner circle she would want to go there with. And she didn’t know anyone other than Eric she would either. She felt like she couldn’t win for losing and the sexual frustration was maddening.

With a growl she shakes her head. “Well I guess there goes that idea.”

Tris bites her lip and bites the bullet. “What about you and Eric?”

Kira turns bright red and scowls. “What about him?” She snaps and pushes her cart to the next aisle to keep shopping.

“Oh come on Kira. We aren’t blind. We know you guys made up and are friends. We are all happy for you. But you have to admit that you guys are hell of attracted to each other too.” Lynn shrugs as she puts in items on her list Kira gave her to take care of.

Tris nods her agreement and Kira sighs. “I won’t pretend that I am not attracted to him. But it is also more complicated and I don’t want to risk losing what we just got back. Eric isn’t exactly a safe choice for me, not with how I…..”

She trails off and scowls causing the two girls to give quiet snickers before Tris finishes for her. “Feel?” The way Tris says it is like Kira thinks that is a dirty word.

She doesn’t think that, she just doesn’t like talking about them. “Yes.” She growls.

Lynn sighs and nods. “That is a risk anytime you get sexualy involved Kira, even with fuck buddies. Candice and I started out that way you know. I didn’t want to be committed and neither did she. So we made that deal. But I realized sometime along the way I felt way more than just attraction for her. We had real feelings for each other. We had become a couple and didn’t even realize it honestly. Then we just didn’t fight it and acknowledged that and each other.”

Kira sighed and nodded. “I still don’t think it would be a good idea. But I need to do something. He is driving me insane.”

Tris got a small shit eating grin and turned away from Kira to not show it. Her and Shay were rooting for them to get together again. She had never seen Kira as happy as she had been the last almost four months. Almost literally from the day she started her training with Eric there had been a change.

It was the same for Eric too. He was still reserved in public, but that was just a leader thing in general. She even did it to some extent. But Eric was more open and easy going when around the group now. He was less irritable and overall, even though Kira and Eric were extremely busy, they always made time to spend with their friends and Ava. They took care of each other to a level that Tris didn’t think Eric was really capable of caring for someone.

He could still be a huge dick and heaven forbid he thought that Kira was upset, hurt, hungry, not sleeping. It didn’t matter, he became militant about taking care of her. Just like with getting her apartment set up.

She got so involved in work she had just stopped trying to make sure things were being done how she wanted. Eric couldn’t stand that so he took over. Within a week the work was finished and he had made sure that what Shay said Kira would like, it was done exactly that way.

He also had been the one to get with Chris about planning Kira’s leadership party. No one but Daria, Chris and herself know that he is overseeing that too and nothing gets approved without him saying so to begin with. He knew Chris had to be in charge because that is her job. But he also knew he couldn’t let her turn it into something that Kira would hate.

So Tris evened her tone out and couldn’t believe she was about to suggest this. “Maybe you should talk to him about it Kira. Or better yet, don’t talk to him about it. Maybe get a few drinks in you and see where it takes you.”

Kira’s jaw dropped and she had to stop walking she was in such disbelief at Tris right now.. “Are you suggesting I just have a drunken hook up with him?”

Tris shrugs, biting her lip.  “It doesn’t have to be completely drunken but yes maybe it would help get things out of your system.”

Kira is biting her lip while she pushes her cart on. She moves ahead of Lynn and Tris, lost in thought. Lynn looks over to Tris and quirks her eyebrow. “When did my little Abnegation sister get so bold?”

Tris laughs and shakes her head. “I have always been bold just not about certain things. Also, I wouldn’t have suggested that normally but….”

Lynn smiles softly and looks at Kira’s back. “It’s Eric and Kira. I get it. Tris if I tell you something, promise you will not tell anyone. Maybe Shay but no one else.”

Tris frowns and nods worried about what it could be. Lynn sighs and nods. “We all know Eric only ever had hookups. Those stopped when he started training Kira, to be honest.”

Tris nodded with a small smile. “Yeah.”

Lynn looks to make sure no one is listening but especially Kira. “Well people say there were a lot more girls than there really were but the girls he was with….well they talked a bit. They are usually fence girls or patrol so they are hardly ever here but I would hear about it when I make my inspections of the units.”

Lynn is in charge of a few Patrol units and often has to go do inspections, lead major sweeps or see to maintenance training at the Patrol HQ.

“What do they say?” Tris almost hisses, not liking that something bad might get back to Kira and hurt her again.

Lynn gets a smug smile and shrugs. “Nothing bad. At least not really for Kira. Because it seems that from every account I have heard they call him an asshole but it is the reason why they are calling him that. Not because he wasn’t good or anything, but because he called them a name. Another woman's name. The name is always the same too.”

“Kira” They said at the same time.

Tris let out a slow breath and nodded. “Wow, well sucks for those girls but it just proves that he never stopped wanting or loving her.”

Lynn nods but they close the subject because Kira starts to make her way to them. Kira still wasn’t sure that it would be a good idea but she would think on it. If things got too bad she might just give in. They could be adults enough to separate it, right?

[ecotone99]

[SP] The Carousel Troupe

Under the corrugated iron roof there are twenty men in vests, wearing soot and sweat and suit jackets and glasses. There they build things, tear them down sometimes even, the ground has grates for their spit and piss and, when there is an accident, blood. Together, begrudgingly, they work on a joined project, they have families to feed, a vacation coming up, they need this more than they can express. The project is a carousel. A big one. It has horses, lions leaping to catch the eagles who fly before them, bears bowing down for fish, roaring up at the clouds, a winding Chinese dragon with a seat at each one of the waves in its long python frame. There are gods on chariots, penguins, deer that have fur that changes colours with the season, unicorns with horns of ivory. Ivory is illegal in most parts of the world. Not here.

The workmen sit and spit and drink on the job. Great lengths of fired iron, writhing orange in the centre and white-hot on the outside, sharp with heat, pulled out of metal beasts with metal tools, flying above the floor and curving towards a conveyor belt that they would loop, semi-predictably, onto. Not before, of course, the person working the flaming snake jumps over it. It was a gross, ugly, dangerous, beer-drinking, piss-going, blood-pumping, fire wielding lottery. The winners got the pleasure of living, albeit with a scar, at the very least, to remind them of their time in the warehouse. These conditions were inhumane. Not here.

Up on the steel walkways the foreman would waltz around carefree, the odd spark flew his way, but he was mostly out of the danger. His position as foreman did not, however, grant him privileges to his own bathroom, so his pants would drop like flies, sometimes his fly would drop too, he was a big man. He would aim for the gutters, the grates, ‘guttersnipes’, he called his little game. That is what he would do, scream, “Guttersnipes!” and watch as the workers below scatter as if someone had announced a bombing or the death of a relative and they are compelled to run to the scene (or run away from it) without permission from the foreman. Plenty got hit with the foreman’s piss, plenty more than plenty, he would often only shout once his stream was in the air, and the sooty air meant the workers had a hard time seeing him, and he they. This, in most places, might make the news, maybe even at a reasonable hour depending on the day. Not here.

Then one day they all left, gone, poof. Moving on with their lives, new places, new people, a thousand stories of deaths and the defying of it collecting in a warehouse in the arse-end of nowhere. Leaks sprung in the ceiling, little holes in the paper-thin shield, and it filled up the grates of piss and blood and spit until they overflowed, it smelled for a while before the Winter rain diluted it, dissolved the smells or pulled them further away toward the rivers or sea.

In this time, many-a-teenager climbed in through broken roof or by cutting holes in the weak walls. Here they congregated to smoke and to drink themselves into stupor and silliness, presumably far away from society. A few more came in pairs, dipping behind stacks of wooden boxes and under the metal railings and the foreman’s platform and into debauchery. They would scream and moan and be unsure, the sound would stop at a footstep, sometime people would interrupt, they could hide for hours behind those wooden boxes, nobody ever checked.

It was behind those wooden boxes, stacked high up against a wall, that there appeared a winding trail of blood and the body of a girl, pale and cut up. Dead. She was screaming when she died, a tall man ran off into the darkness streaming red of his own as he did, he collapsed not far away in a field, a stab wound in his side. To this day that don’t know who killed who. One police officer joked to another, as they do joke in these awful situations, “Do we question the carousel?” Ah, but if they had. But if they had.

People came and went, fewer than before, and many were older people checking for younger people or crazy, twitching, poor men and women armed to the teeth with tiredness and sorrow. And those ‘crazy people’ did come, oh how they came! But never maliciously, just with desire for a bed of dirt, perhaps a carousel horse or Chinese dragon to listen to their deepest secrets, their many regrets, how they just wanted, just wanted, just wanted to stop. For that was how they said it, many of them, angrily, in a pique. “To sleep and wake up ten years ago, what a pleasure,” they would say behind their words, with the fear in their eyebrows, a scarcity or abundance of full-stops.

The police would come and ask them to leave, back to the streets, back to the alleyways, back to the wandering about at early morn till dusk, strategising their sleeping place, scurrying like rats through a sitting room, hopeful, terrified. Private property. Unused private property.

One day, a man came in, escorted by people in black shirts and pants, guns at their sides, eagle eyes sweeping over the area. They never spotted the scared old woman behind the boxes, lying on blood of a little girl and her killer.

“She’s beautiful!” said the man, he smiled wide, his teeth and craters where teeth once were on display like piano keys, “They’re beautiful.”

“Really?” said one of the armed escorts, “But it’s all banged up, I mean, look at the fuckin spider!” and laughed. The spider was missing six of its legs and half its eyes.

“This isn’t “banged-up”, this is time-worn. I’ll see that it gets all fixed.” Said the man with the big smile, doting, “Did they say it was a mover?”

The other armed escort piped up, “It’s just a showpiece sir, never made to spin.”

“It’ll spin.” He said, and continued in his beatific trance, “Oh, the canopy! It’s perfect! A Chameleon, elephants! Dolphins! Real ivory! Not illegal here! No, No, No!”

Then sun was bright in the eyes of the carousel animals as they were carried somewhere far away by a new metal beast, one they hadn’t seen before. The top blades spun like the fiery pillars that those men, the workers, would throw about the warehouse, and it flew, flew above fields and water, above houses and cliffs that drove themselves like a wedge deep into the water. Above mountains and little meadows, between caverns and glens, setting down where they would be set down, for they had no control, no freedom. The whole sky and no freedom.

The grass was pushed down as if by a heavy boot when they were brought to land again. It was a great carousel. The water rushed to all sides of the many-ton circle and escaped in one, long, diminishing tidal wave. “Where do you think we are?” said Chameleon

“Somewhere better, I hope. The other place was homey but dreadfully boring.” Said the unicorn, ivory horn casting a sword-blade shadow in the sun.

“Shit to shit, I say. Just being realistic.” Said the bear whose head was bent down to the ground, scanning the metal ground for fish

The animals debated that night, Unicorn and Bear being the two loudest voices. The men in black shirts and pants, no guns now, came to the carousel came after the sun had fell beneath the waves, they brought and screwdriver, a chisel, and a hammer. They moved to Unicorn and did a slow job on his horn, working for one whole torturous hour to rip it out of his head. Illegal here. How he screamed for that hour - and cried after. They couldn’t hear him. It rained that night, they were given no roof or embraces like they might have gotten from the odd person who slept on the dirt or metal, or one of the godly chariots that never had spun around, not even once. It was then that they had agreed, “Shit to shit.”

They were moved to a warehouse at dawn, a large crane-on-wheels rattled and grumbled and smoked a black smoke into the air as it carried them part of the way, calling three more for backup for the rest. The warehouse was clean, there was white clinical walls, yes, but it was warm, there was a roof, there was no blood on the wooden boxes near the corners, there was light from the windows undarkened by dust. There were toilet facilities, no fire-snakes, no foreman screaming “Guttersnipe,” like a mad-king from the speech-giving balcony of his great palace, from which he could watch and see, really see his power, and then, obligation to the body being primary, use his power. There was paperwork done here, signatures, not that the carousel troupe knew what that was. It looked organised, like those teenagers who would roll their sheets up, which were covered in numbers and letters and strange symbols, they called it maths, to smoke them. There was an artistry to it, it felt timeless, every generation had to do it. Or at the very least they should.

The days were long, they talked forever, when they ran out of things to talk about, which had happened a long, long time ago, they played little games. They would play something like chess, same idea anyway, one of the gods had come up with it, or was it the donkey? Spider was the best at it, he never lost. They would call out where they wished to move their pieces on the board, the board was in their heads, and they’d have two adjudicators that would remember the board as well in case either of the players forgot. They often joked that Spider had given up six of her legs and half her eyes for how good she was at the game, and she’d always say that she still had more eyes than anybody else, and still the same number of legs as the gods. As this was going on, the mystery men, the workers new, would tinker away and stare and plan and take their break sitting in the chariots or on the dragon, on the back of a galloping horse, a wolf, a great manticore.

The lights went off, everybody went home to their families and fireplaces and warm beds for the night. The side door of the warehouse opened again; light poured in from the next room over. A man came out, short, thin, with a big piano-key smile. He went over to Horse, whose plastic had been washed of its original chestnut colour and was now a pale as pinewood, his golden reins and wild reddish eyes had never lost their colour though, and so the contrast between he and his clothes grew, and he became more beautiful with time. “We shall run away together, my friend. Escape.” Said the man. Many a murmur of death was past about the carousel that night, Horse heard it all. His soul told him to run, his hooves, welded to the metal floor, his body, pierced with a great metal spear, told him otherwise.

Mr. Aubrey, with his piano-key teeth and midnight visits, was the foreman in this warehouse, factory, building. They couldn’t place what the building really was, not completely, it was too clinical to be a warehouse, not enough heavy machinery to be a factory. The words, as they so often are, were used interchangeably. The late-night visits persisted, the door would crack open, sending a line of yellow light across the clean ground from the room in which Mr. Aubrey liked to stay, and liked to, at night, amble happily out of. He would make his own little changes to Horse, he sparked little fires, shot blue licks of heat into his parts. Horse would scream, blood, if there were any, would curdle, the other plastic-metal animals, poked with spears as he was, would attempt to console him, he would try to listen. He would fail. The man opened up the side hatch of Horse, taking parts out putting new ones in, soldering glowing green and blue orbs that hung from springs and coils and plastic like bells on the leash of a cat. “There, there.” Said Mr. Aubrey, thinking him just plastic and reins, “I do my best not to leave a mark.”

Dragon saw the whole thing, he had two heads, each chasing each other’s tails like a winding ouroboros, yet he was one and could see out of both. “You are Horse no longer, I think.” He said, he had a wise voice, people listened, even if his tenor and his sentence did not match, “We’ll call you Lightning, or Sparks. For all the changes, you understand.”

During the day the workers worked, the foreman watched, at night the foreman snuck around, spoke to Lightning, or Sparks, or Horse, dragged ultraviolet fireworks from his insides, set him alight, and sealed him back up for the workers to come in the next day. This persisted, the need to run persisted, the night time visits, the working men lunching on the chariots and Manticore, on majestic beasts of old and myth, dropping crumbs and water bottles and little leaves of lettuce that flew wildly in the air as if in a hurricane. Until something changed. The other door opened, the one at the front of the warehouse, and in stumbled a man with white hair that sank down below his shoulders. He had on a spiral-patterned beanie that covered his eyebrows and coiled its way around his head. In his left hand there was the top of a bottle jutting out of the top of a brown paper bag. He sang, the words like they were water in his mouth, like waves, ethereal, unintelligible, somehow still soothing.

The new man was someone the carousel troupe had seen a million times before, a man who needed a place to sleep, away from the cold rain which now slapped with the force of hail on the roof. The man put his right hand out and felt the ground, looked absently for cover so that if someone was to enter, he might leave before them seeing, although it would be at least ten hours before a plan like that was possible on account of his loud steps and pronounced wobble. Mr. Aubrey’s door opened a crack, the light shone towards the drunk man’s foot, he didn’t notice, the door was pulled shut. They all silently hoped the police wouldn’t come, wouldn’t force this man out to freeze as they had seen them do before, if they had an inkling of what might happen next they might have prayed for the police, prayed for the man to freeze. Mr. Aubrey shot out of his door like a madman, wielding two large kitchen knives as deftly as any surgeon with scalpels. There was a coldness that ran through the plastic bodies of the troupe under the canopy of the carousel, the same feeling one might get when the see a waterfall at the end of the river they are sailing down. A coldness in the air that Aubrey breathed, a cold off-kilter manner to his half-sprint, half relaxed amble. Mr. Aubrey smiled his piano key smile and cut the man up slowly, letting him scream, but not too loud, letting him bleed, but not too much. He did have to clean it, after all. When the job was done, he put the body somewhere inside the door he always left and came back out to speak to and to change that beast he called Horse. “Mine, you’re my horse. Good horse. Tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came, the men seemed lighter, they had not brought lunchboxes in plastic and paper bags with them. “Ready to be done with this piece of shit?” one of the workers said to another

“Feel bad for those guys on the painting team, that’s gonna be one helluva job. And with Toothy lookin’ over your shoulder.” Said another

“We get to run?” asked Manticore

“Sounds like it.” Said Dragon

“Run where?” asked Chameleon

“Nowhere.” Said Horse, “Fucking nowhere.” He felt sick, his plastic frame and the metal spear growled and shook, he thought it angry with him for hating Mr. Aubrey. He longed for the smell of piss, and blood, and spit, or the fresh open air of the ride on that flying metal beast or the night outdoors in the rain. Anything. Not this factory with no stench, the warmth of new blood on the clinical white. “White, white, white, why is the whole thing white? Where’s the red, from last night, where the yellow and red? Where’s the feeling, the debauchery, the dipping behind the brown boxes, risk, pleasure, death? We’ve been around for too long, my friends. We’ve not changed. Surely, we must have seen small children turn to parents, turn to the police officers, the same ones we would swear at on entry to our domain, time and time again. How long has it been? Too long, I say. They bring us to life now, I say no, I say run, against the metal, against the spears. Fly, Eagle, phoenix, dragon, to the sun and moon our gods, fail and fly and run and die. Manticore, feed, kill, sprint, sweat. Chameleon, disappear, blend, terrify, confuse. My reins are plastic not leather, fake not real, I shall do no such thing as move for these puppet masters.”

The thousand bulbs stuck the canopy lit up, a jaunty circus tune came in and out of earshot menacingly, only one of the rotating speakers on the top was working. The rotation began slowly, the animals and mythical creatures began to dip, rise, dip, rise, dip, rise. Mr. Aubrey jumped on while it was moving, grasped the spear which was stuck through Horse’s chest. He bent his back so that his mouth was beside Horse’s ear, placed his hand on the side of the spear and twisted it. The spear began to dissolve into something other, it was mercurial, it slid down Aubrey’s suit jacket as he rode, it dripped off of Horse’s mane and his plastic skin and down onto the floor of the carousel. Lights flashed on and off, away and back, there was something in them, fire, new flame. The smoke came on first, then the canopy was ablaze, a thousand bulbs exploded, the glass shards spilled out around the troupe.

There was screaming from the other plastic creatures still skewered. Some breathed heavily, although they had no need to breath, other looked about regretting the fact that they had to die in such a place as this, one where you’re more likely to see a dead body that a friend. The sea-creatures screamed the loudest, for they saw it in the most colour, through the most vibrant lens. Where Horse saw an orange flame, the crustaceans and fish and sea-dwelling lizards saw ropes of colours none of the others could comprehend, terrifying colours, colours they had never seen before except at the front of the cigarettes and rolled up sheets those teenagers would roll and smoke. Horse could twist his neck as if it wasn’t plastic, as if had joints, tendons, muscles. Dragon saw Horse looking around, as Dragon sees everything.

His eyes opened as wide as is possible for a plastic dragon, “Go it, Lightning!” he screamed, “Go it, Sparks!”

Aubrey kicked Horse’s sides, his hooves tore away from the metal that was holding him down, bolts and nuts and sense going with him.

How fast he sprinted! How his legs kicked the air to dust behind him! Aubrey hung on barely, the golden reins were studded with rubies, emeralds, sapphires, false all but beautiful the same. Horse was unaware of how he got out of the factory, couldn’t even guess at where he was going, he just knew that his hooves were scraping grass and that he was running faster than any carousel ride would allow. What they had flown over, the cliffs, the glens, the voluptuous fields of golden wheat and grass greener now in the sunset. “Forward!” cried Mr. Aubrey, “Yes!”

Horse did go forward, straight forward to a cliff edge, slowing before he got there, tipping Aubrey over the edge when they arrived.

Horse ran for a bit more, sparks running off his hooves as they scraped away from rocky ground, his mane blowing in the evening wind, running unprotected by bolt or by spear, running with all the risk in the world. Right now, he could die, he could fall and break everything, he could lose himself and topple over cliff edge, die in any number of ways, and it was liberating. Now he need only pick one. His skin was hardening his fur beginning to stick together, to grey. There was a little dirt path nearby, he thought, he shall fly, like Dragon, “Go it, Lightning!” he has said. He ran to cliff above the path, neighed at the strange and tiny birds that littered the grass fields where he trotted. He reared up in the air, forelegs up high above where the cliff stopped, his head held nobly forward like a fighting ox. He froze, plastic, stone, he didn’t care. It wasn’t just his body freezing now but his mind. He smelled the fresh air one last time, the tinge of burn that followed on his run, and he knew his friends were there with him, just as free as him, all on the next leg of their adventure, as he was on his. If a horse could smile, then he was, if not, well, he tried, by God he tried.

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[lunaschild2016]

Life As We Know It Chapter 6

Rating: M (Smut, Language, Violence, Adult Themes)

Romance/Tragedy

Their lives seemed to be steeped in tragedy. Through it all they had each other until wrong choice brought it all crashing down. Eric had never been able to make up for the mistake he made, but he never stopped trying. Once again tragedy strikes turning everything upside down. Now, for little Ava they will have to come together once more. AU Eric/OC M No War No Divergent Hunts

A/N: This is a completed story that I have posted on another site as well. But thought I would add it here since I just started this account. I hope you enjoy.

@kenzieam@ericdauntless@jojuarez26@jaihardy@iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt@captainviolets@badassbaker@readsalot73@fuckthatfeeling@dani5102@beltz2016@beautifulramblingbrains@affabletimelady@irasancti@meganbee15@pathybo  @lauraaan182​

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Chapter 6

Eric let himself into Kira’s apartment with his key card the morning of Ava’s and Kira’s parties. He was nervous as shit about Kira liking her party but they had hours to go before that was an issue. Right now he was making sure the final things that needed to be done in her apartment were done and knew she would be waking up soon to get breakfast started anyways.

He planned to surprise her and do that, or rather he brought her breakfast. He couldn’t describe how happy the last almost two months had been for him, having her back in his life. He knew he showed it way too much but he didn’t fucking care either. He had needed her as if she was air and he was able to breathe for the first time.

It was still a struggle to not want more than just friendship and it always would be. Especially when they did more than just what friends would do. There were cuddle sessions on couches and not quite kissing but almost. Then there were the times when they did nothing but press their foreheads together and barely control themselves.

Even though her training was over they had continued their sparring and other physical training and that morphed into these maddening encounters. It was like they used the mat to get a release their bodies wanted or just used it as an excuse to go shirtless and slide against each other.

It was frustrating enough that it left him burning for some kind of release but he wasn’t about to try and go find it elsewhere. It wouldn’t be the same or work and he wasn’t going to fuck things up with Kira by doing it. They might not be together but he knew it would kill him if he heard she had been with someone else. He could only imagine what it would do to her and he wasn’t about to test that.

Eric started checking things out on the balcony. Making sure that everything was in place there so that Kira didn’t come out and start panicking to try and get things together. He already had put the coffee on for her first thing so if she did wake up it would be to that. It would also be to the breakfast he had picked up for them from a cafe’ from the new shopping center annex that Kira and he had busted their asses to get operational. There were a few places in the big space that were cafe’s, deli’s and restaurants now. And all from different factions so that there was this variety of foods on offer that would normally not be available unless visiting that faction.

Kira and Eric had both fallen in love with a couple that opened a place in the annex a few weeks ago. The wife had transferred from Amity into Erudite and the husband was a Dauntless born transfer into Erudite as well. Together they had melded their own faction of origins styles and come up with an eclectic mix. Horace and Hestia, who almost seemed destined for each other with those mythological names, were excellent cooks and bakers.

There were also doing some of the foods for Ava’s party and would be attending. Kira was already taking it upon herself to cook so Hestia and Horace had decided she wouldn’t be doing it alone. He had stopped there first to make sure they had everything they needed.

So for today, and while he was there, he had gotten the breakfast Kira seemed to love of a veggie quiche, brioche french toast, fresh fruit and this light and tangy dipping sauce for the fruit. After he had set that out on the counter on plates he got to work, knowing the coffee was a better alarm than her own.

The balcony didn’t take long to sort out. He had spent almost two weeks making sure the damn workmen got the shit done right. Kira’s one main request had been for a safety barrier to be put up on her balcony. She had made sure to order a tempered glass that was attached and run along the chest height stone wall. He had made sure it ran along his too since he had just combined the two and it was just a good idea. He had been tempted to just combine the damn apartments but he didn’t dare think about that. Or at least he did think about it, he just knew that right now might now be a good time to put those thoughts out there.

Kira had wanted that safety for Ava because the little stinker was climbing anything she could. The glass put up a nice size barrier but they didn’t lose the view and it even helped with the wind. At his end of the balcony they had created an outdoor fireplace/kitchen area. They also had built a solid awning so that from the far end of his balcony section up until his foldable french door, there was coverage. In that area there was outdoor seating so that between the outdoor kitchens fireplace and covering, it almost became usable year round.

Kira’s end had the foldable french doors as well so that when opened the apartment and balcony flowed into each other. One part of the wall Eric had ordered a small wall hanging plant bed be made. It was made from old pallets and screwed into the wall. Each section would be used for the herbs and plants Kira planted that she liked.

There were several other smaller planters, and even a raised garden bed table, around the balcony too for her to do her different veggies.

The biggest pain in the ass, but also showstopper, was the fire-pit-grill table they made. It is a long rectangular thing that is made to be a fire pit and grill in the center. With grates that open to allow easy access to the coals or wood they will use. It also has a second tier of grill racks for food that doesn’t need to be right over the fire. The table part is made out of a synthetic type wood that makes it safe and possible for everyone to sit right there while enjoying either the fire or tending their own dinner on the grill section and it is all heat resistant. When not being used as either of those there is a section that lays over it all so that it becomes just a long table that can sit at least fifteen people on the metal and wood benches they made to match the design. They were really comfortable with the backs they had made sure to add on them.

Shay had added her own touches by having thick comfy cushions made up that matches the entire color scheme of Kira’s apartment. She had gone with her favorite colors of teal, chocolate brown, and silver/grey. Any patterns that are on fabric are geometric in design though there are a few flowers and polka dots thrown in for Ava.

Overall the entire apartment was redone to look industrial in design but with those soft colors. Where Kira would have been happy to just make due with the counters, bathroom and cabinets that were already in the apartment, he and Shayla had not been.

He made sure that the backsplash, counters, cabinets and wall paints were all in the style and colors she would like. The cabinets were done in a grey while the subway tile was done in the teal. The countertops were in a white smooth and durable reproduction quartz stone. He made sure that all her appliances were new, courtesy of Erudite, and the most professional chef quality. The same was done in all her bathrooms but mainly her master bathroom. Kira loved baths and Shay had begged him to work something out with Erudite to get her the best walk in shower but also soaking tub they had. She didn’t have to beg him because he had already been working on it. He knew what she liked from when they were still together.

Kira had changed over the years but then again hadn’t. He was glad to see that she was still a lover of the simple things and was almost too easy to please when it came to her own comfort or luxuries. It was like it was a counter to how demanding she was when it came to her work ethic, demands for quality at work from herself and others, and expectations from those working for her and for her faction.

She was hard, cunning, assertive and fearless in how she approached her position for her faction. She was also the most giving person he had ever met, loyal, loving and stubborn. He grew more in love with her everyday that she was back in his life and it both hurt and healed him to be with her again in any fashion. It also drove him to take care of her even more than he had before they fell out of each other’s lives. She was the same way, though she tended to be a bit more sneaky about it. He loved the shit out of it and he could tell she did too.

With that in mind he moved from the balcony and into the apartment. The coffee was finally brewed and he smiled when he heard her shower running. He moved further into the apartment to make sure that Ava’s bedroom was in order. After that he went to the office and smiled because she had put in two desks when she had been ordering things. She had said that they both might as well be comfortable because they usually ended up at someone's apartment to work after the end of the day anyways. The other bedroom was set up as a guest bedroom and was simple but comfortable. There was a hall bathroom and a shared bathroom between Ava’s room and the guestroom. All were done in the same colors. Even Ava loved the colors in her room.

The only deviation from the color scheme is a beautiful mural that Kira painted in the corner of Ava’s room that extended to the walls on the side. In that corner she painted a huge tree that looks as if it is enchanted. It is a weeping willow that has branches that hang out to the side to hide a beautiful secret garden. In the trunk of the tree there is an elegant doorway that looks almost as if it is a portal and if you look close enough you see that the portal leads to an enchanted land as if in the distance. In the mural are more flowers, hidden animals, fairy lights and so many things that he is still discovering them. Even the trees, plants, and garden paths that are all painted on the wall are painted in such a way that shapes of animals are formed but hidden so you have to look for them.

Ava instantly loved it and her room. It was one more reason to love Kira because that had been her first thought. That Ava had a room in her home and one that she would love and know she was wanted and belonged in.

“Morning.” Kira mumbles as she comes out into the kitchen area where Eric has just sat a large cup of coffee next to a plate at the huge island counter.

Eric smiles and chuckles at Kira’s sleepy smile. “Good morning babe.”

Kira flushes at his use of the word babe. He had started to do that soon after they had woken up that morning when they had slept beside each other. Every time it sent flips to her stomach and pleasure through her. She used the same for him just as much though and she could tell he enjoyed it as well.

She takes a seat at the stool he is clearly wanting her to as he comes to sit beside her with his own with a cup of coffee. “What did you do?” Kira asks as she takes in the place setting. There is a huge plate of what looks to be her favorite things from Hestia's Cafe.

Eric shrugged with a smug smile. “I thought I would surprise you with breakfast this morning so you wouldn’t have to cook and we didn’t have to go out until we head to get your tattoo.”

Kira once again has that flood of warmth but not just to her core like she had been having. This went all through her body, heart and soul. He was always looking out for her in some of the simplest but most meaningful ways.

She smiled widely at him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you Eric. It looks amazing. Of course the coffee was a great way to wake up as well.”

Eric laughed and nodded. “Pretty much why I did it Kira. I thought it would be a better way to wake up then a damn alarm.”

She picked up her fork and started in on her breakfast, her quiche first. It was amazing as always, with the fresh veggies that were still slightly crisp. “How long have you been up babe?” Kira asks after swallowing her first bite, her forehead furrowed as she looked over to Eric.

Eric smiled at her. He was enjoying being with her in the quiet and relaxing for once instead of rushing around, in meetings or talking about work. Also enjoying her calling him babe. Something so simple that makes him ridiculously happy.

He shrugged before he answered. “Not that long. About an hour or so I guess. Not any earlier than I would normally get up but I just didn’t do my morning run.”

Kira nodded and then sighed happily after she got a few sips of coffee. “I’m surprised I haven’t been bombarded with messages already this morning. Not just about work but just in general.”

Eric frowned and nodded. “Well I did threaten a few people if they did so I’m glad they fucking listened. I swear, it’s like they want us to hold their hands for everything in the workshop and Annex management isn’t that much better. I will be glad when we get the division heads trained.”

Kira laughed a little and nodded. “Yeah me too but you know it will still happen even then. They are demanding positions and because they are new….” She trails off and takes bites of her french toast, closing her eyes and sighing. Just enjoying this. Eric is pressed close to her and had entwined his hand with hers while they ate.

She didn’t complain because she felt just as much need to be close to him as often as she could too. She still fought her body from doing anything more, but she didn’t try and stop from being near him anymore either.

Eric nodded at her last thought and sighed. “Are you ready to get your tattoo done, Kira?’

Kira smiled and nodded. “Of course. I guess it’s a good thing I kept one arm free of tattoos, huh?”

Eric laughed and nodded. He hadn’t seen all of the tattoo. But Kira had a tattoo that covered her left side in an amazing design of a polynesian tribal style.

From her description and what he had seen, he knew the tattoo started in the left rib/abdomen area and went to just under the breast. Then it wrapped around the back but went no further then to the right of the spine. Because of the swirls and patterns of the tribal art there were no straight lines in the edges of the tattoo.

It flowed and moved along her natural curves and followed along the right side up the side of the breast to wrap around the shoulder and then down the arm to end at a wrist cuff tattoo of the tribal art with the symbol for strength.

The shoulder part was done in such a way as that it almost looked like the shoulder piece of an ancient piece of armor but still keeping to the tribal art theme. As it moved down the arm it keeps the curving and tribal art theme and wraps around the arm almost like vines.

The part of the tattoo that moves down into the hip breaks from the tribal art only slightly as starting right at the hip line the image of a dragon in the style of the Japanese dragons that is more serpent like is within the tribal art design. It curves slightly to extend into the right buttock area but then curves back into the upper thigh where the dragon ends and it goes back into the tribal art with different symbols worked in.

The same way the tattoo wrapped around the arm it does that same thing as it makes its way down into the right foot ending just after the ankle at the top of her foot. The final image on the top of the foot is that of a lily, lotus flower and the moon, all worked into the tribal bands. There is no color besides the rust brown, faded black and darker black. There are symbols for peace, protection, strength, family, honor, love, wisdom and justice worked throughout the tattoo.

The images other than the dragon are lotus flowers, lilies, crossed swords, semper fi, a dragonfly and the moon. It could look overly masculine but the way everything was arranged it was really very feminine and sensual in the way it highlighted her curves and the swell of her breast or the firm ass that he tried not to salivate at or move his hands to grab.

He wished he could see it all together but he knew that wouldn’t be possible. Not unless she decided she wanted to go there with him because there was no way he was going to try and make a move and ruin things.

“I think we both don’t know the meaning of small tattoos Kira.” Eric said with a bit of a smirk. He had tribal art somewhat similar to hers but it covered his left chest, abdomen, stomach and into a hip. He had some of the same symbols but the design was more masculine and there were other hidden things in the design that no one but him and George knew about. Her name was one of them but also the lyrics to a song that they had claimed as theirs when they were together.

They both had similar designs because they had come up with them together. He had to admit he had been surprised that she had still gone with the design considering their falling out. Then again he had too and even though it was a reminder to him everyday when he looked in the mirror of her and what he lost. There just had been no way he wasn’t going to get it. They were similar enough they could be matching and the first time he had glimpsed her arm during academy he had nearly come undone knowing she had still decided to get the designs they had worked on together. It was like even though he had lost her, they still carried those parts of each other with them.

Kira smiles softly, having been just thinking something similar to Eric, although unknown to her. She gently squeezes his hand and they continue to eat. They will be heading down to Max’s office to sign off on the last bit of paperwork before she becomes one of the five main leaders, then the other four leaders will be joining her at the parlor while she gets her tattoos.

Tris and Daria have theirs along their spine. Eric and Max have theirs on their neck and Kira had wanted somewhere still visible but feminine looking. She had decided to go along her right upper arm so that she could still proudly display them.

He was looking forward to being there for this set of tattoos.

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